“Hunter, I want you to make Coach Sterns think about opening a spot for you. I need you both to hustle and not take any drills off. They’ll be evaluating you, as will the scouts who make the rankings. David, the West Coast scouts are eager to see you perform. This camp will set the tone for the Elite Quarterback Camp in July. We’re going to push to get you into the Top 5, maybe even to number one.”
“I’m just getting over my ankle injury. Is this a good idea to have me here?” Hunter asked.
“The timing isn’t great, but it is what it is. They know you’re just now getting back into shape,” Bo assured him.
We finished breakfast, went and signed in.
I GOT TO SEE THE POWER of Nike. They were allowing campers to ‘test’ their shoes. Of course, all our gear was Nike and we had to wear it during camp. I heard Under Armour was making a big push to eat into the Nike market. They had just signed a ten-year deal with Notre Dame.
The morning session was all evaluation. They measured and weighed us. Then we did the forty-yard dash, both forwards and backwards. They had us do push-ups, long jump and standing high jump. Then they split us up and had the quarterbacks run drills to show their speed and ability to change direction. Finally, we were taken to the field and had to show our accuracy. At lunch, we were split into two groups for the rest of camp. I was happy to see Hunter and I were put into the top group.
Coach Sterns gathered together the four who were going to be working with him.
“I’m going to assign you a buddy. The two of you will do everything together and be responsible for each other. So if one of you is late, the other better be with him,” Coach Sterns told us.
My buddy was Ridge Townsend. He was the one everyone was talking about and the recruit who’d switched his commitment to USC from Alabama. He was six-four and weighed one ninety-five. He was rated the number one pocket passer and number eighteen overall recruit. Ridge was all business, and barely acknowledged me when we were introduced. I didn’t take it as him being a dick; he was just focused on what we were doing.
They had four different stations with different drills at each. We were the gold team. They had a coach at each station to run the drill, and Coach Sterns would float to watch the action. One of the coaches announced on the PA where we were supposed to go.
“Gold Team, station one...”
Stations one and two were focused on footwork. It was arranged so we could both be going at the same time. That allowed us to maximize practice time. This was something I wanted to work on. I was able to watch Ridge before I started the drill. The coaches would stop me and have Ridge demonstrate. About halfway through, Ridge wanted to stop so he could watch me.
“David, do it again. I need to see you so I can help you fix what you’re doing,” he offered.
Coach Sterns came over, and soon he and Ridge were offering advice. At first, it felt awkward, but I soon figured out what I was doing wrong. The simple answer was: everything. You ever have one of those ‘aha’ moments? I had one. I hadn’t really done it wrong; it was subtleties like moving the ball back towards your shoulder instead of holding it centered in your chest. The slight adjustment meant I could get rid of the ball a fraction of a second sooner and more accurately.
“You see that? You feel the difference?” Ridge asked.
I think he was more excited about my improvement than I was.
“Thanks, I really appreciate the help.”
The third station was very similar to Bo’s trash-can setup. They used tires. This station I excelled at. I was able to match Ridge throw for throw.
Ridge took me aside before we went to the next station.
“You’re better than they led me to believe. I only wish I was that good my sophomore year,” he smiled at me. “They put us together for a reason. I’m supposed to talk you into coming to USC, and I’m starting to think that’s not a good idea. Why don’t you go to Notre Dame so I can kick your butt?”
“Why don’t I come to USC so you can back me up?”
“It’s going to be like that, is it?” he shot back, and we both grinned.
“I’ll need someone to carry my bags and stuff like that. I think you might have the skills,” I teased him.
“You know what the perfect day is?” he asked me.
“No.”
“It’s when USC wins, and UCLA and Notre Dame both lose,” he said, and we both laughed.
The PA announced that we were going to station four. There was a crowd waiting for us. Ridge clued me in: they were scouts for the different services who rated high school talent.
They had a good idea for a setup. USC had a gold circle painted on the ground to indicate the pocket and a three-legged stand where the football sat. It simulated getting the ball from the center. There were three receivers for us to throw to.
We started out just dropping back and throwing. I was doing well until they added distractions. They had one coach act like he was blocking for the offense, and he would back into the pocket. Another one had a pad he would swipe at you or make you throw over him. It was obvious Ridge had practiced doing this before. The purpose was to get you to move in the pocket and throw.
“This is your strength, David. Don’t be afraid to move,” Ridge encouraged me.
I quit thinking about making the perfect throw and having my technique correct. I started making plays. Coach Sterns sent four guys at me, and I had to dance around them; I hit a long fly pattern right in stride.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Coach Sterns yelled. “Better, much better, we’ll make a football player out of you yet!
“Good job, both of you. Now we’re going to make it interesting. Set up the one-minute drill.”
They had us start on our own 20 yard line. The ball stands were set up every fifteen yards on different hash marks. They wanted us to throw fifteen-yard down-and-outs. If you completed the pass, you moved to the next stand. If not, you had to repeat the throw. The last pass was from five yards out, and they had four coaches stand on the goal line. You were expected to throw over them and hit your receiver to score. They didn’t stop the clock.
“I’ll let the kid go first. I don’t want to embarrass him,” Ridge taunted me.
“Tell you what, big shot, the loser has to carry the winner’s bags to and from practice,” I shot back.
We didn’t carry bags, but you could bet we would find one.
“You’re on,” he said, accepting the challenge.
This was fun because it felt like a real game. I knew I was better in games than practice. I put my hand on the ball and Coach Sterns yelled, “Go!”
I did a three-step drop and completed my first pass. The next station was set up on the left hash mark. I sprinted the fifteen yards. They called out the time: “forty-five seconds.” The next one I hit the near sideline. I ran to the 50 yard line. “Thirty-five seconds,” was called out. I took the snap from the center of the field and overthrew my receiver. They had another ball ready to go as Ridge was doing a happy dance to my side.
I completed the next pass and ran to the 35 yard line. “Twenty-five seconds.” I fired a rifle shot and sprinted to the 20 yard line. “13 seconds.” I gunned another one and ran to the 5. “Five, four, three ...” I took the snap and hit the receiver in the end zone.
Ridge ran up and gave me a high five.
“Good job, David,” he said. “Now see how it’s really done.”
“Wow, that was intense. I hope you don’t embarrass yourself in front of your future coach and all these scouts. It’d be a shame if you lost your number-one ranking,” I said to rattle him.
We jogged back to the starting point, chatting back and forth. Ridge wasn’t going to get flustered.